


The pills aren't in a plastic bottle

by Bersenev



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: M/M, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2018-09-14
Packaged: 2019-07-12 08:55:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15991892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bersenev/pseuds/Bersenev
Summary: When Connor entered the park that evening it had been to kill himself, not to witness another persons suicide attempt.





	The pills aren't in a plastic bottle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note for those that have already read the first two chapters:
> 
> I decided to change the whole aspect with the ambulance because I feel like it doesn't actually fit well and I'm honestly just not sure how to write it properly? (plus I don't want Evan to be even more in debt just because apparently ambulance rides are crazy expensive in america?)
> 
> So if you've read this already? Then you might want to reread it once I uploaded the edited version of chapter 2.  
> This chapter is still largely the same but the next one I will probably have to write from scratch so...
> 
> Yeah that's a thing

His name is Connor Murphy and his life is a mess.  
  
His name is Connor Murphy but some days he could swear it’s freak, monster, school shooter or something else along those lines by how often those words are hurled at him.  
  
His name is Connor Murphy and he tries so hard to make a „was“ out of that „is“ but  it’s not working so far.  
  
His name is Connor Murphy and right now he is sitting on a swing at a park at night and he can feel pills in the pocket of his jacket.  
  
They don’t come in a plastic bottle.  
  
The pills.  
  
The pills don’t come in a plastic bottle. They’re over the counter sleeping medication and they come in this flimsy cardboard box and on the inside are the sheets of plastic and metallic wrapper that hold the pills.  
  
So he can’t like shake a bottle of pills. Not that he’d have a reason to but somehow in his mind he always imagined himself wistfully starring at the full moon or something and then he holds the bottle of pills in front of it and just pours some into his hands or mouth or something.  
  
But the pills don’t come in a bottle; they come in a flimsy cardboard box and holding that up just wouldn’t have the same effect and it’s not a full moon anyway.  
  
Committing suicide is a weird thing, he thinks as he feels the flimsy cardboard box in his jackets pocket.   
  
He came out here with an intent; the intent to kill himself. He had taken the pills his mother had bought a while ago and went outside with the intent to swallow all of them dry and wait in this park until he died from the overdose.   
  
The intent was there but he just couldn’t feel it in himself to do it because somehow the pills not being in a bottle made a rip in this sheet that had clouded his vision.  
  
Sometimes it just felt like everything was really dull. Physically dull, emotionally dull just dull.   
  
In those moments he just nodded when a voice said that he was better of dead because that made sense right? It wasn’t an emotional choice or something it just made sense. Things were dull and he was better of dead. It was as easy as that.  
  
In those moments he didn’t really notice things or perceive them. He didn’t notice whether or not he put on shoes or took enough pills or whatever.  
  
It was a little bit like dreaming.   
  
It was even a bit like dreaming in the sense that he could wake up from it. That’s the rip in the sheet. That’s the dullness fading, first only at the edges and then slowly all around him. All these things rushing back in at him.  
  
Suddenly he shivered from the cold and felt hungry and miserable and the voices made him want to curl up into a ball again.  
  
So committing suicide is a weird thing, he thinks because it wasn’t some movie worthy thing that prevented it in that moment. It was just his pills that came in a small cardboard box instead of a plastic bottle.  
  
Suicide being weird didn’t make it funny however, because Connor definitely didn’t feel like laughing.  
  
Actually he could feel something wet slipping down his cheeks and dropping of his chin, making small dark spots appear on the jacket he was wearing. The jacket had a lot of smears by now and light spots were he got bleach on it and it probably smelt faintly of weed but Connor loved it all the more for it. It felt like safety, a protection from the outside world.  
  
Right now he wished that it was able to protect him from the things inside him instead of the outside world.   
  
It felt cruel, in a way, that neither the inside nor outside were safe for him. Then again, neither were safe of him either so maybe that was fair. Maybe Connor Murphy just didn’t deserve safety.  
  
He hoped that maybe, just maybe letting his thoughts circle like that could help him get some of the dullness back so he could finish what he entered that park for but life seemed to have something else in mind for him.  
  
As he was gazing up at the sky and the stars, for a brief moment he thought about how much prettier the sight must be from further up above. How lovely it would be to to just dissolve into stardust.   
  
And there as he observed the sky he saw an angel fall from the heavens. An angel clad in some kind of striped shirt and khakis.  
  
Wait.   
  
Shit, no that was a person.  
  
That was a person and the shock makes Connor let go of the swing and fall face first into the sand as he scrambles towards the tree the person fell out of.  
  
“Hey, are you okay?“ he can hear himself scream, as he pushes himself out of the sand and onto his feet.   
  
He rushes towards the person and skitters to a halt, his knees scrapping through his ripped jeans, as he pulls his phone out of his jackets pocket.   
He should probably call an ambulance, but what if the angel- boy- whatever in front of him didn’t have the money?  
  
What else could he do? He had come with his car, he could get the boy in there and drive him to the nearest hospital. Originally he had just taken the car so his corpse wouldn’t have to lie around too long before someone found it but this was probably more important.   
  
“You’ll be okay.“ he says, looking down at the stranger and he didn’t know where that confidence came from but he had to hold onto it. He had to believe in it if he wanted to have even a single chance at getting this boy to the hospital in one piece.  
  
Which, honestly, already looked like a problem now that Connor was looking at him. His left arm didn’t look like it was in one piece and was that bone?   
  
“You’ll be okay.“ he says again, more to himself than anything else.  
  
Life had just dropped an angel in front of him in the night he wanted to kill himself and he wasn’t about to just fuck that up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Btw! I'm currently setting up a Discord for everyone that wants to talk about Musical Ships  
> I mean it's also partially to share fanwork with each other but yeah!  
> Here's the link if you feel like joining it  
> https://discord.gg/4dHfjKJ

**Author's Note:**

> I'm... honestly not sure what this is yet?  
> I just wrote chapter 20 for my bmc fanfic and felt like doing some venting through Connor and then this happened and I might continue it if I have an idea what to do with it.


End file.
